


The Six Staples of the Dare/di Angelo Household

by sunburst_city



Category: Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan
Genre: F/M, Futurefic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-18
Updated: 2012-07-18
Packaged: 2017-11-10 05:49:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/462905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunburst_city/pseuds/sunburst_city
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or "How Nico and Rachel manage to cohabit without killing each other." Because when it comes to the Oracle and the Ghost King living together, every day is bound to be exciting. That, or just irritating and/or mildly entertaining.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Six Staples of the Dare/di Angelo Household

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://sunburst-city.livejournal.com/23744.html) with crappy fanart to go with it [here.](http://sunburst-city.livejournal.com/22559.html)
> 
> Written for prompt #54: Quintessential on the PJatO yalit100 challenge on LJ.

**#1: Arguing**  
 _Reason: They’re the Oracle of Delphi and the son of Hades. Snarky banter (or any kind of banter, for that matter) is sort of a given whenever they’re around each other._  
  
They’re sitting on opposite sides of the couch – her on the left, him on the right. A narrator is droning on in the documentary currently playing on the television in front of them, but neither one pays it any attention. They’re both too busy staring each other down and daring the other to move.  
  
Without warning, Rachel snatches the remote control off of the coffee table and changes the channel.  
  
“Hey!” Nico protests. The TV is now showing a woman with paint-splattered jeans being judged by the panel in front of her. The son of Hades looks at her with narrowed eyes and says: “Change. It. Back.”  
  
Rachel scoffs, keeping the remote further away from him. “We are not watching a three-hour documentary on _Hades_ , di Angelo. If you want to hear about your dad, go visit him. Or is he too busy to make time for his own kid?”  
  
Nico scowls at the jab before grabbing the remote from her and changing the channel. “Well, there’s no way in hell I’m watching a season-long marathon of Work of Art either, Dare.” He shoots back, mocking her tone. “Besides, you already know all about struggling New York artists.”  
  
Rachel glowers at him and takes back the remote. “Too bad. My house, my call.” With that, she flips the channel again. She shoots the son of Hades a look, daring him to try taking the remote from her again. Nico glares at her defiantly and makes a show of stealing the remote and switching the channel back to his documentary. Just as he does, Rachel lunges at him. They both topple to the floor, each one trying to take the remote control for his or her self.  
  
“This is my house now, too, in case you forgot.” Nico points out, grunting as he tries to pry the remote out of her hands.  
  
Rachel scoffs. “Sure doesn’t seem like it. Or have you forgotten who pays for everything around here?”  
  
“Is that what this is about? I told you, Dare, I’ll pay next month’s bills!”  
  
As they struggle, they accidentally press various buttons on the remote control, making the television switch to random channels.  
  
 _“I’m a high-functioning sociopath. Do your resear—“  
  
“—We interrupt this program to bring you—“  
  
“—And now we have the weather —“  
  
“—Maldito traidor!”_  
  
At this exclamation, the two stop fighting over the remote to look over at the television. A Spanish telenovela is playing, one that seemed to have a lot of crime (Nico’s favourite genre) and drama (which is Rachel’s) involved. They look at each other.  
  
“Truce?” Nico suggests after a few beats of silence.  
  
Rachel shrugs. “Eh, why not?” With that, she makes herself comfortable on the couch, and turns up the volume. He joins her shortly afterwards.  
  
 _Twenty minutes later..._  
  
“Oh, come _on!_ It’s obvious that Nicole slept with Alejandro to get back at her cousin Maya!”  
  
“Um, _no_. Nicole only _thought_ she slept with Alejandro. She was actually with Antonio, his twin. _Alejandro_ was – believe it or not – faithful to Maya, not that she deserves it.”  
  
She throws him an annoyed look. “What do _you_ know, Death Boy?”  
  
“Unlike you, Dare, I actually understand what they’re saying.”  
  
“Like last month when that French girl asked for directions to the restroom and you gave her your phone number instead?”  
  
“Anybody could’ve made that mistake! And how the hell do you know about that, anyway?”  
  
“Annabeth couldn’t shut up about it. I gotta say, di Angelo, you are not a smooth operator.”  
  
“Oh, like the virginal Oracle knows how to pick up boys.”  
  
The Spanish soap is forgotten as the argument escalates and they’re back to throwing snarky comments at each other.

 

-

  
 **#2: Personal space issues**  
 _Reason: Personal Space? Pssh. They don’t know the meaning of those words._  
  
It’s ten-thirty on a Saturday morning when it happens. Rachel is in the living room with Caroline, a close friend and a junior in her realism class. The two of them got together that morning to put the finishing touches on the fund-raising project for their art-for-a-cause organization.  
  
And then Nico di Angelo comes out of his room.  
  
Rachel literally freezes in place while Caroline raises an eyebrow. Both girls’ eyes are trailed onto his form as he sleepily pads into the kitchen. Once the kitchen door closes behind him, Rachel snaps out of it and regains control of her limbs.  
  
“Excuse me for a second.” She tells Caroline, smiling tightly. Without waiting for a reply, Rachel darts up and disappears through the kitchen door. Once inside, she takes a deep breath and asks: “Nico, what the hell are you doing?”  
  
The son of Hades looks at her uncomprehendingly. “Getting breakfast.” He says, waving around the coffee mug in his hand. “What’s it look like to you, Dare?”  
  
“I _mean,_ ” she says, gritting her teeth. “Why the hell are you in just your boxers?”  
  
As if only now remembering what he had on, Nico looks down. He snorts. “Be thankful I actually put something on before I left my room.”  
  
“Oh gods ewwergh—!” Rachel’s eyes screw shut as her face twists in disgust. Promising to herself that she’d bleach her brain at a later time, she pinches the bridge of her nose and takes deep, calming breaths to quell her rapidly rising temper. Once she’s sure she isn’t going to smack Nico senseless, she opens her eyes and says: “Okay, di Angelo. We have to make this a rule: If you aren’t in your room or in the shower, wear clothes.”  
  
“These _are_ clo—”  
  
“And by clothes,” she cuts him off bitingly, “I mean a top and bottoms. Think about it, di Angelo, you don’t want to see me flashing my bits all over the place, do you?”  
  
Nico’s expression could’ve passed as genuinely thoughtful, had it not been for the smirk on his face. “Well, when you put it that way...”  
  
Rachel’s face flushes red and she slaps him. “Pervert!”  
  
“Ow! Shit, Dare. I was kidding!”  
  
“Go put a damn shirt on!” She demands, poking his chest hard. He raises his hands.  
  
“Fine, fine.” He grumbles, putting his coffee mug down and exiting the kitchen. Rachel is right on his heels, her eyes still boring holes at his naked back. Once Nico is in the living room, though, his eyes drift towards the really pretty girl staring at him from the sofa. So, instead of heading over to his room right away, he strides over to her.  
  
“Hi.” He says, flashing a charming grin at her. Caroline grins back. Rachel walks over to them and rolls her eyes.  
  
“di Angelo, stop flirting with Caroline.” She says, reaching up (damn his height) to grab him by the shoulders and pushing him towards his room. “Shirt. Now.”  
  
“Alright, Dare. Don’t get your panties in a twist.” He winks at Caroline before going back to his room. Rachel calls him a few choice words (in English, Greek, and Spanish, even) before plopping back down on the couch.  
  
For a long moment, Caroline just stares at the door where Nico had disappeared through. Finally, she turns to Rachel asks: “So, did I just meet the annoying roommate you’ve been bitching about, or was that your boyfriend?”  
  
Rachel makes a sound somewhere in between a snort and one of disgust. “Definitely the annoying roommate.”  
  
Caroline whistles appreciatively. “You sure know how to pick ‘em, Rach. Well, if _you_ don’t want him, can I keep him?”

  
-

  
 **#3: Paint (Everywhere)**  
 _Reason: Rachel._  
  
“What the—”  
  
Nico face is part incredulous, part angry as he looks down at his once-black right boot, and he can’t help but wonder:  
  
What the hell is a pan of bright yellow paint doing right next to the front door?  
  
Looking around at the apartment, Nico spots some things which weren’t there when he left the house that morning. Cans and tubes of paint in every color are on the floor, in front of doors, by the television, hanging on the coat rack (yes, hanging. On the coat rack), basically just strewn all over the place. More pans like the one he stepped on are on the kitchen counter and the sofa. Brushes and other art materials litter the entire living room. Canvasses – ranging from blank to completely filled – lean on the walls like a sentry. All in all, it looks like Rachel’s art studio threw up on every random place imaginable in the apartment.  
  
Cleary, the Oracle of Delphi has been busy.  
  
Not wanting to stain the hardwood floor with paint, Nico carefully slips his right foot out of his boot and leaves the boot there. Judging from the smell, that paint is heavy-grade stuff; his boot doesn’t stand a chance at all. Nico then uses his foot to nudge the pan of paint away from the door.  
  
“Dare!” He yells out as he goes further into the apartment.  
  
No answer. Rachel should be in her studio at this time. She probably has her iPod blasting in her ears again. Not  
even bothering to take of his other shoe, Nico immediately heads for the first door on the right and barges in. “Dare! What the—whoa.”  
  
More brushes and paint are on the floor of her studio, and the entire room is covered in still drying paint. The ceiling and three of the walls have been painted to look like the night sky, complete with wispy clouds, some stars, and even a full moon.  
  
Nico finds Rachel by the far wall, painting it in a pretty damn accurate depiction of the New York skyline. He allows himself a moment to gawk at her work before he strides up to her and pulls the earbud if her iPod out of her ear.  
  
“Hey! I thought I told you not to come in here—”  
  
Nico interrupts her. “Would you like to tell me why the hell there was a pan of paint right in front of the front door?”  
  
Rachel pauses mid-sentence and looks down at his shoes, just now noticing the lack of a right shoe and the yellow paint splattered on the edge of his jeans. Her face whips up and she glares at him.  
  
“I was going to use that!” She says. He snorts at her.  
  
“If you were then you should have kept it in a place where people wouldn’t run into it.”  
  
“Don’t tell me where and where not to put my stuff.” She snaps, but he ignores her comment.  
  
“You need to get organized. Seriously. Percy’s got better organization skills than you do.”  
  
At that, she looks downright insulted. “You did _not_ just compare me to Percy 'I-stuff-everything-in-my-closet-and-call-that-clean' Jackson."  
  
"I just did. Face it, Red, your shit's in places where it shouldn't be."  
  
"I have a _system!_ ” She hisses at him.  
  
“Last week I found a can of red paint next to the tomato sauce and a dozen tubes of acrylic paint in the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.” He says blankly.  
  
Rachel says nothing, and Nico gives her a pointed look. “Fine!” She says moodily, throwing her hands in the air. “I’ll arrange my stuff a little.”  
  
“Good.” Nico then gestures at the studio. “So, what the hell is all this, anyway?”  
  
Rachel looks at the wall she was painting. “Nothing, really. I just thought the walls were too bare and this happened.”  
  
“It’s amazing.” He admits.  
  
She smiles slyly at him. “Not bad for a ‘struggling New York artist,’ eh?” She asks. He rolls his eyes and smirks at her, recalling their argument from a few weeks ago.  
  
He sits down on the only chair in the room. When he does, though, there is an audible squelch. He stiffens. Rachel bites her lower lip, trying in vain to keep the shit-eating grin off of her face. A snort escapes through her nose. Nico breathes in deeply.  
  
“I’m sitting on a palette, aren’t I?” He says blankly. Rachel nods, not trusting her voice. “What color?”  
  
She struggles to reply, and even then, she is only able to force out one word.  _“Pink.”_  
  
With that, Rachel can’t take it anymore and promptly bursts out laughing. He scowls.  
  
 _“Dammit Red!”_

  
-

  
 **#4: Chocolate**  
 _Reason: They’re addicted._  
  
“Oh, _shit._ ”  
  
Nico stares in horror at the empty – not _nearly_ empty, but _empty_ empty – cupboard in front of him. His gaze shifts to the wrapper in his hand, and then to the pile of wrappers on the kitchen counter. Finally, his eyes drift back to the cupboard.  
  
He just ate his way through their entire chocolate stash.  
  
Rachel is going to _murder_ him.  
  
Letting the wrapper in his hand join the ones in the counter, he hurriedly grabs his wallet and practically dives into the shadowy corner of the apartment, emerging in the alley behind their usual convenience store. Like a man on a very time-sensitive mission, he strides (more like sprints) inside, grabs a basket, and heads for the chocolate isle. Snickers, M&M’s, Reese’s, he grabs a number of each and puts it in the basket. When he’s satisfied with his haul, he runs to the check-out counter.  
  
In his haste, he nearly knocks over an elderly woman. Nico calls out an apology over his shoulder but doesn’t stop until he’s in front of the check-out counter. The son of Hades scans the items carefully as the cashier punches in the items, making sure that he got all their usual bran—  
  
Oh shit, the Hershey’s bars. Rachel would definitely be able to tell if her favourite chocolate suddenly disappeared from the cupboard. Nico asks the cashier to wait for a minute and then hurries back to the chocolate isle. He spots the large shelf of Hershey’s chocolates and grabs a dozen bars in Rachel’s usual size. He runs back to the cashier, who looks at him oddly before telling him how much his purchases were. Nico pays the cashier, takes the plastic bag of chocolate, and exits the store.  
  
As he walks back into the alley to shadow travel, he lets out a huge breath. All he has to do now is refill the cupboard before Rachel gets home. Nico checks his watch to see how much time he has and promptly curses.  
  
Rachel gets home in five minutes.  
  
Nico quickly shadow travels back to their apartment kitchen. He opens the cupboard and shoves everything in, doing his best to give the food a semblance of being organized. Once he’s done, he closes the cupboard, stows the plastic bag away, and plops onto the couch, just in time for the front door to open.  
  
“Hey!” He says a little too enthusiastically. He internally winces as Rachel gives him a look.  
  
“Hey yourself.” She replies. Her eyes suspiciously take in his windswept hair, rumpled clothing and the slightly crazed look in his eyes. “You look... high-strung. What happened?”  
  
 _Um, shit._ Hoping he looks and sounds convincing, he exasperatedly throws his head back against the seat and says: “Monster attack.”  
  
Thankfully, she accepts his excuse without question. “Oh, that sucks. Go on and take a break, then. It’s my turn to make dinner, anyway.”  
  
“Don’t burn the water again, Red.” He teases. She flashes him the finger before disappearing through the kitchen door. Nico watches the kitchen door apprehensively, waiting to see if Rachel makes any comment about their stash.  
  
“Hey, Nico?” She calls out from the kitchen. He tenses. “We’re almost out of curry powder. Could you get some the next time you’re out?”  
  
Nico sighs in relief. “Okay. I’ll buy some tomorrow.” He replies. He sits in a tense silence for a few minutes afterwards, waiting for another, more chocolate-related comment.  
  
But Rachel doesn’t say a thing.  
  
 _Crisis totally adverted._  
  
Nico practically melts into the couch. He actually did it. He refilled their stash in time. Rachel will never even know about his binge—  
  
“Oh, and Nico,” Rachel reappears at the doorway. Her ‘I’m-about-to-complicate-your-life’ smirk is pasted on her face as she says, “Next time you try covering your tracks, try to remember that I hate almonds.”  
  
In his head, he curses. Almonds. He was in such a hurry that he just grabbed the first Hershey’s bars he saw. He looks at her, wide-eyed, as she shoots him one last wicked grin before going back into the kitchen.  
  
From her smirk, Nico knows Rachel is going to get back at him for this. He thinks back to the last time this happened – he still doesn’t know how she got Demeter into it; either way, he hasn’t looked at a cacao plant the same way ever again – and he groans.  
  
And to think: he could’ve gotten away with it, too, if the Dare heiress wasn’t so prissy about nuts in her chocolate.  
  
“And for gods’ sakes, stop leaving your empty wrappers on the counter!”  
  
Then again, maybe not.

  
-

  
 **#5: Backhanded compliments**  
 _Reason: They’re too proud to say anything more. At least, not to each other’s face._  
  
“Are you done yet, Nico?” She calls out as she puts makeup on in front of the bathroom mirror, making sure not to overdo it. Just enough to say: _Hello, I’m Rachel Elizabeth Dare and thank you for coming to my art exhibit._  
  
“Like you’re one to talk, Red. You’re still in the bathroom.” Nico’s voice rings out from the hallway. Rachel rolls her eyes.  
  
“Just get in here!” She yells. She distinctively hears his grumbles as he enters her room.  
  
“What?” He asks sharply, just as she finishes with her makeup. When she turns around to face him, though, her throat suddenly goes dry.  
  
Nico is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed across his chest. Rachel’s eyes take in what he’s wearing, from his slightly scuffed dress shoes to the black pants slung on his hips, and then up to his dark button down. The top two buttons of his shirt are undone and his sleeves are pushed up to his elbows. A tie (in a crimson shade that she can’t help but realize matches her dress) is hanging around his neck, knotted so haphazardly that it looks ridiculous. Looking up further, she notices that he had shaved and even tried to take a comb through his mop of dark hair.  
  
When she looks into his eyes, Rachel realizes that Nico caught her checking him out. He raises an eyebrow.  
  
“Enjoying the view, Dare?” He asks, smirking.  
  
On impulse, Rachel scoffs. “Please. To be honest, I’m surprised you were able to clean up this well.”  
  
He scowls, causing her to smirk. Ah, familiar ground. _This_ , she can totally handle. “I’ll give you points for effort, di Angelo;” she continues, “but I’m sure your tie isn’t supposed to look like Medusa’s split ends. Come here.”  
  
Even as she’s saying it, she’s already crossing the room and reaching up for his tie. Shaking her head at his poor attempt, Rachel undoes the messy knot he made and pulls his tie off, temporarily slinging it on her shoulder. Her fingers work on doing up the last two buttons and popping up the collar. She then takes his tie and puts it back around his neck and underneath the collar, knotting it properly. All the while, she purposefully ignores the heat radiating from his skin and the almost intoxicating smell of his cologne.  
  
When Rachel finishes smoothing down his collar, she looks up and finds his intense gaze locked on her. She gulps.  
  
“There. Much better.” She says softly, making no move to step back. Ever so slowly, Nico’s hand comes up and tucks a lock of hair behind her ear. Her breathing hitches as his hand trails down to momentarily rest on her bare shoulder, exposed by the strapless dress she wore, before coming down to rest beside him.  
  
“That can’t be why you called me over here.” He begins lowly.  
  
“What? Oh, yeah.” Rachel reluctantly steps back and clears her throat. “Daddy called me. His flight just got in and he’s waiting at the airport right now. Since he doesn’t know where the exhibit is, I told him you’d pick him up and bring him to the gallery.”  
  
Nico groans. “But your dad hates me.”  
  
“Daddy hates a lot of people on principle. Don’t worry; it isn’t personal.”  
  
Nico doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t move either. Rachel raises an eyebrow. “Well? What are you waiting for?”  
  
Nico shakes his head and grumbles. “The things I do for you, Red.” Then, he walks out of her room. When she is absolutely sure that he is completely out the door, Rachel turns back to the sink and takes deep, shaky breaths.  
  
“Calm down, Rachel,” she tells herself. “It’s just Nico, your annoying, sarcastic, obnoxious roommate. You’ve seen him shirtless before.”  
  
An image of Nico padding across the living room in his boxers crosses her mind. She gasps and shakes her head vigorously. “Okay, not helping.”  
  
When she looks up at her reflection in the mirror, she is horrified to find that her face is as red as her hair (even through her makeup) and that her pupils are blown wide.  
  
 _Shit._  
  
Hurriedly, she grabs her cellphone and dials a number. Three rings later, someone picks up.  
  
 _“Rachel?”_ Annabeth answers.  
  
For a moment, Rachel’s mouth just opens and closes, like her brain doesn’t know what it wants her mouth to say. Eventually, the only answer she comes up with is: “Holy Shit.”  
  
Annabeth’s tone is amused as she asks: _“What’s got you in a tizzy, Oracle Girl?”_  
  
Rachel’s mind brings up the image of Nico – complete with his signature smirk and intense gaze, with the rolled up sleeves emphasizing his toned arms, and his horribly-knotted bright red tie drawing attention to the long column of his throat – and her face burns up even more.  
  
“It’s Nico. He’s fucking _gorgeous._ ”

  
-

  
 **#6: Love**  
 _Reason: After everything is said and done, they honestly do care about each other._  
  
Rachel is beyond furious as she flings the front door open and enters the apartment. She feels Nico’s dark eyes trailed on her from his seat on the couch, but she ignores him. Instead, she stomps her way into her art studio and loudly slams the door shut behind her.  
  
She can’t believe her father had the nerve to do that to her. Sure, she knows that Warren Dare tends to have a one track mind, but never did she think that he would go this far and disrespect her choices like that. He actually had the audacity to tell her college – the best art college in New York – she was dropping out, and then enrol her in a business management course in some stuffy, uptight university.  
  
He never even mentioned it to her or anything! She just found out this morning, when she tried to scan her ID to enter the campus, and the scanner said that her card was terminated.  
  
Frustrated tears sting her eyes and her whole body shakes with anger. Without warning, she grabs the expensive porcelain vase in the corner – yet another one of her father’s useless gifts – and hurls it across the room. It shatters loudly as it hits the far wall. Suddenly unable to support her, Rachel’s knees buckle underneath her, sending her sprawling to the hardwood floor. She stays there, despite the floor digging uncomfortably into her knees, as her body shakes with barely repressed emotions.  
  
A few seconds later, Rachel hears the soft padding of Nico’s footsteps as he enters the studio, even though she had long since banned him from doing so.  
  
Large, warm hands gently grip her upper arms from behind. Without a word, Nico pulls her up, and Rachel allows herself to be steered out of the studio and into the kitchen. Once they’re there, he sits her down on one of the tall stools next to the counter. Rachel just stares blankly at the countertop as she hears him move around in the kitchen, cupboards opening and closing as he goes along.  
  
Minutes later, a mug of her favourite tea is placed in front of her. As she takes a sip, a muffled scraping sound is heard as Nico drags the second barstool closer to hers. He sits on top of it and puts an arm around her shoulders, pulling her closer to him. She sighs heavily and leans against him, accepting his silent invitation of comfort. His hand gives her shoulder a soft squeeze. Not long after, she feels his lips press gently against her hair.  
  
Not a word is said between them.  
  
The next day, Rachel bluntly tells Nico that his tea-brewing skills are crap. She then sets a mug down in front of him, telling him that ‘this is what real tea tastes like.’  
  
It does not miss Nico’s attention that the mug has a paint-splattered sticky note stuck to its side, one with the words ‘Thank you’ in Rachel’s loopy print written on it.


End file.
